


Caught in the Crossfire

by mandeelion



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: 1890s, Angst, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Arthur Morgan Has Low Self-Esteem, Bandits & Outlaws, Battle, Canon-Typical Violence, Charlotte Blackwood - Freeform, Cowboys, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Dark Past, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, Gun Violence, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Hope, Idiots in Love, Loss of Virginity, Magic Revealed, Mutual Pining, My First AO3 Post, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, POV Original Female Character, Past Character Death, Past Violence, Protective Arthur Morgan, Revenge, Reverend Swanson - Freeform, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Touch-Starved, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), Wild West, so many HOT COWBOYS DEAR LORD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:00:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24766582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandeelion/pseuds/mandeelion
Summary: Charlotte Blackwood  falls into a life she could have never anticipated, and one she quickly realizes she doesn't want to live without. An outlaw saves her from certain death, and an ember is lit inside her heart for him that can't be extinguished. Will her past and the secrets within lead her to unbridled power? Will she be able to heal what has been shattered, and fight for good with the odds stacked against her and her enemies at her heels? Will the man she loves choose a side when the time comes, or will he remain caught in the crossfire of both worlds?
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Shots Fired

**Author's Note:**

> _to the edge of this edge of the earth, to the ends of this world, I’m gonna’ find you.  
>  is it a blessing or curse, for better or worse, I’m gonna’ find you.  
> when you lay down to sleep, when you’re lost in a dream, still I will find you.  
> whisper my final words - down in the dirt,  
> that’s where they’ll find you._
> 
> **Shots Fired - Hidden Citizens, Laney Jones**  
>    
> Every chapter has a title of a song that tells a bit of the story, so I'd suggest listening to each to get the feeling I'm hoping to convey. :}  
> 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING; there are brief moments of non-consensual touching in the beginning, over Charlotte's clothes, and mentions of assault. Just don't want anyone to be caught off guard while reading. <3

I can see them both; clear as day on our front porch that winds around our big white house. Daddy is smoking his pipe, our beloved dog, Robert, is resting on his lap. Momma is reading, sipping her sweetened iced tea. She's loved books ever since she was a little girl, could never get enough of them. And our pasture, stretching across our fourteen acres…horses and wildlife roaming contentedly upon the green, plush grass. It’s as if I’m right back to being a child, happy and carefree…loved.

Suddenly, though, the image starts deteriorating before my eyes, melting away like snow. I try to run towards them, begging them to stay, but it’s like I’m moving in slow motion. Everything I love, Momma and Daddy, our pup, our home…it’s all being sucked away into the darkness. I feel a throbbing pain all over me, inside of me, and I blink furiously as I slip back into my unforgiving consciousness.

“There she is. Come on now, girl. We’ve much to discuss yet,” I hear a heavy Southern accent hiss near my face, and I cringe, trying to hide inside my own skin.

A rough hand grabs my jaw and snaps it towards its owner. My vision is blurry at best, but I know exactly who’s in front of me. The bastard who I should’ve killed when I had the chance tonight. I deserve to die, for hesitating. I let them down. I let _me_ down.  
Death is now something that entices me as I’m anchored to this wooden pole buried in the dirt. My wrists are secured against it above my head, and my shoulders are aching fiercely, needing so badly to stretch. My knees have long since gone numb after resting my slack weight upon them for what feels like an eternity. What my captor doesn’t realize, though, is that I’m not afraid to die. Not afraid to suffer. I deserve the pain. My head throbs without a moment of relief, and my body screams in protest as he grabs my black coat to yank me inches away from his face.

“You’ve sure grown up a lovely thing, haven’t you?” he whispers against my neck, and I involuntarily shiver in abject fear and disgust, but I refuse cry out. I won’t give him the satisfaction of my pain. Not anymore.

“Too bad you’re so filthy, covered in all this mud and dirt. Thought you could disguise yourself, hm? Pretty, but none too sharp it seems,” he rasps as his hand violently gropes me between my legs over my pants. I bite my tongue so hard it bleeds and stare straight ahead as the men scattered around him chuckle darkly. _How could I have let this happen?_

“I suppose before we get to the business of all this, my men and I might have a little fun with you. Teach you a lesson about what happens when little girls go chasing bad men. Would you like that? Us taking turns inside a’ you, pretty?” he inquires as I do everything I can to block him out. I refuse to take the bait, even as his other hand lets go of my face to paw at my breast. Even as the men around me start mumbling and growling like a pack of wolves ready to feast.

“I’d have never dared to hope you’d be stupid enough to come right to me. Then again, you was always a little spit-fire.”

My vision starts to ebb and flow from the evening of beatings I’d endured, but my ears perk up when I hear him talk about her.

“…should’ve known, with how pretty your mama was, you’d be just as enticing…” he mutters into my ear as he grips my center so hard it’s painful.

My vision goes red when her memory is spoken aloud from his filthy mouth. I have no time to even process my rage until I’m knocking my head as hard as possible against his, causing him to stumble backwards and land flat on his back. He’s moaning and writhing in pain, clutching his bloody nose, and I drink it in like the sweetest poison. Blood starts to pool in my mouth from previously biting down on my tongue to stay silent, overflowing a bit to trickle down my chin, my neck, as I cackle in delight at his agony. I feel unhinged in every sense of the word. My head steadily throbs uncontrollably from the impact but I don’t care. I feel feral. 

_A kill for a kill._

Another steps in and punches me in the gut so hard I lose my breath, blood spurting out of my mouth, and I curl inwards, desperately gasping like a fish out of water.  
Then my captor stands, with the help of his lackey, and I hear the sharp metallic sound of a knife being drawn. Its edge is placed under my chin as he slowly guides my head up to stare at him. He swiftly snaps my head back even more by yanking on my braid with his free hand. We’re both covered in blood, but I smile through the pain and the sharp taste of copper coating my teeth. My eyes look right into his, unwavering. Unafraid. For a moment he has the humanity to look unnerved. But just as soon as he does, his face hardens into one of twisted hatred.

“It’s my deepest regret that you got away all those years ago, little Charlotte. It’s haunted me since. But now, all will be made right. I’ve been too generous with you. But I’ll not ask you one more time. Where. Is. The money? “

He hovers over me like a vulture awaiting my death, his face so close to mine that our foreheads almost touch, and I feel the beginnings of a cut into my neck from his blade. His hand is gripping my hair tightly, pushing me into him further. I steel myself for what’s to come, though I was prepared for it the moment I hesitated to pull that trigger. I wince as I shift to push my forehead harder against his, and he stills momentarily. In hope or in defense, I can’t tell. Then I use my voice for the first time since my capture to growl my final response, enough venom and rage within me to lay a city flat. 

“Rot in hell, Thomas McAllister,” I hiss, then spit blood directly into his smug face.

His expression contorts horribly into one of rage, and I await the red necklace of blood soon to encircle my throat, leading me onward to my family. _Calling me home._

A gunshot echoes through my head, incredibly close to me, and Thomas’s arm holding the knife flails in response, slicing my left cheek upwards. I hiss in pain and jerk against my restraints before I see him, clutching a bloodied arm and yelling at his men to retaliate. Against who, though?

There’s fuck all that I can do tied to this wooden pole, and my body is truly starting to give in to its own destruction as blood from my cheek courses swiftly down. I watch the blood drip, drip, drip onto the dusty ground, joining the drops coming from nose as well, and my head lolls forward in utter exhaustion. There’s so much shouting, and gunshots crack across the atmosphere like lightning. This isn’t how I wanted to die. Not like this. Not by some stranger from a rival gang who has no idea what all of this was even for.

I don’t have much choice though, it seems. 

In the haze of my looming unconsciousness, I realize someone is cutting my arms free. I’d usually be terrified at what the real motive was, but I can’t find it in me to care as I tip in and out of awareness. I hear a man’s voice, and it’s shockingly gentle as he mumbles something about ‘get you outta’ here’ and ‘safe’. The rope gives way under his knife and my arms fall down against me as I scream in agony at the pain. They’d been in one position for so long that moving them sends a merciless fire through every nerve. My body starts falling forward to crash into the ground, my arms numb and useless to me, but the man whips around to catch me. One arm is looped around my back as my full weight rests upon his chest sluggishly, my neck craning sideways against him uncomfortably. 

“Can you walk?” I hear him ask as he hoists me up a bit, his voice low. I wonder if my knees can stand it as I hear scattered gunshots getting further away from us. He carefully pulls me all the way up with him and wraps my arm around his shoulders, his other arm secured at my waist as I try and take one small step. A choked sob instantly rips from my chest at the searing stab of pain in my knees and thighs, and I stumble. He wastes no time as he deftly picks me up in two strong arms, mumbling for me to wrap my arms around him if I can. I do so, crying out at the effort, and my head thumps against his shoulder as I hear myself whimper like a wounded animal.

“Try and stay awake for me, y’hear? Keep them eyes open,” he mutters jaggedly, a little breathless from speedily walking with a fully grown woman in his arms. 

“Tryin’…” I whisper, my voice so hoarse I barely recognize it. I hear a horse whinny, and like I weigh nothing at all, he hoists me up onto it. I whimper again at having to straddle it and stretch my cramped legs around its back.

“Hold on to her mane, just till I’m up there. That’s it, good”, he says as I slump forward onto the horses neck, hands gripping the rough hair with what little strength I have left. I feel the warmth of the man’s body against mine once he’s on, and his arms slide across my stomach to carefully pull me closer to him, my back now leaning against his chest. This feels nice…too nice…compared to everything that’s just happened. A bitter thought crosses my mind. _Why is he helping me? Maybe he’s just taking me for himself…to do what bad men do to little girls…_

With one hand holding me tautly against him, and the other on a reign, he urges the horse forward with a loud ‘h’yah!’, and now we’re galloping steadily to a destination I have no certainty off. I’m not afraid, though I most likely should be. I’m too far gone to really process anything other than not being flung off his horse. I whimper in fear as I start to truly black out from being rocked around from the galloping, and I grasp his arm tightly, trying to keep from falling into the sky. I hear him encouraging me to stay awake, telling me I’m going to be all right. I don’t see how. 

The last thing I know is the warmth of his arms around me, and then the dark velvet night swallows me whole.

~*~

I feel warm. Warmer than I’ve been in what feels like an eternity. Someone is holding me tightly to them, and an all too familiar smell of flowery perfume glides into my senses…roses, I think. _Momma…?_

She pulls from my embrace to hold me in front of her, beaming with such pride and love. Her smile is so beautiful it clenches my heart, and her green eyes are sparkling like emeralds. I start to sob uncontrollably, telling her how sorry I am, how I missed my shot, how I was seconds too late to save them both all those years ago.

She hushes me and I feel the calming of her voice taking over as she gently places her soft hand against my cheek. 

“You have to go now, darling.”

I shake my head frantically, grabbing her hand and kissing the back of it.  
“No! Please, just let me go with you! Please, momma, I need you both --!”

She cuts me off with another embrace, and suddenly, Daddy is there too, holding both Momma and I in his strong arms.  
“It’s not your time yet, Charlotte,” he whispers, and the aching truth of his words etches its mark onto my very soul. 

“No…I want to be with you, I’m empty without you here, please…” I cry as my voice cracks in desperation, begging them to just let me stay here forever in this beautiful moment.

Momma squeezes me closer to her, and I feel the feather-light touch of her fingers as they card through my long red hair that looks just like hers.

“My wonderful girl…we never left. We will always be right here. But for now, it’s time to go. You have many more chapters yet, my love.  
It’s time for you to _wake up.”_

~*~

A scream jerks me awake in the night, and I snap upwards into a sitting position, gasping like I’ve been under water for hours. I clutch my chest and feel my frantic heartbeat beneath my fingers.

Alive.  
I’m alive?

Too alive, perhaps, seeing as every single inch of my body is groaning in pain, protesting angrily against me for sitting up so quickly. I lift my blanket and look down, seeing that I’ve been stripped of my outer clothing and left in my undergarments. I flush at the realization, knowing most would find it very odd that I wear men’s under things for comfort. My hands, while scrubbed down a bit, still have blood and dirt under every fingernail. _Where am I? How did I get here?_

I quickly come to realize that it was my own scream that woke me as a stern looking older woman bustles into my tent as if she’s been startled.

“Now, there’s no need to wake my entire camp. I assure you, you’ll be healin’ up just fine in a few days or so.”

She busies herself with what looks like some clean bandages and a cup of water, and the sight of it makes my mouth water in want. I finally take stock of my face for the first time, gently touching my fingers against one cheek, and then the other. Stuck to my left cheek is a few strips of cloth and some kind of ointment, but it’s doing little to numb the severe sting across that side of my face.

The knife. Thomas. I’d almost forgotten. But how did I end up here, bandaged and assisted? I was moments from death, and then someone…a man, got me on his horse. Apparently this is where he brought me.

“Who –“, I croak, instantly coughing from trying to speak through an entirely too dry throat.

“Hush now, and drink this. You’re as a dried up as a desert, child,” the woman says, briskly pushing the cup of water into my hand. I greedily drink it, not caring as some water escapes my mouth and runs down my chin and neck. _God, I never knew just how delicious water could be._

I finish it all and gasp a bit from withholding my breath so long and turn to look at her again as she grabs a tin of ointment and some fresh bandages.

“I expect you’re wantin’ to know where in the hell you are. Fair enough question, I suppose. Arthur has always had a penchant for poor lost souls and tryin’ to save ‘em,” she says curtly as she grips my chin without so much as a warning and turns my injured cheek towards her. I eye her wearily but say nothing as she peels off the old bandage from my face, causing tears to spring to my eyes at the throbbing that ensues.

“You’ve ended up at the camp of the Van Der Linde Gang. Notorious outlaws, thieves and murderers of the Old West, etcetera. There’s probably no end to what you’ve heard, and while a lot of it may be true, we ain’t half as bad as the man who gave you this,” she says, nodding towards my cheek as she applies fresh balm onto the deep wound and then carefully lays the new strips of fabric over it.

I feel my throat clench up at the realization that a stranger who owed me nothing was kind enough to save my skin, and now another stranger was keeping me alive who had no reason to. It’s been so long since I’ve felt cared for by someone that I almost can’t bare to be touched so gently like this. I sniffle and manage to barely keep the tears at bay. If she does notice, she doesn’t say anything. Perhaps she understands. Once she’s finished up, she takes my empty tin cup from my shaking hands and dunks it once more into a bucket of water to refill it. She then hands it to me and her mouth purses a bit as she sizes me up.

“You may call me Miss Grimshaw. I run this camp, and have for many a year. If you’re to be stayin’ with us for awhile, I expect you to fall in line like the rest of the gang and abide by my rules. Do your share, pull your own weight, and we’ll get along just dandy. That understood?”

I nod earnestly and mumble an echoed ‘mhm’ over my cup as I drain it again, then set it beside me on a little stool. They’ve already done more for me than anyone has in years.

“I understand,” I reply, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, letting my all too heavy body flop back against the soft cot.

She smirks at me, but not unkindly. As she makes her way out of the tent, I stop her.

“Miss Grimshaw?”

She pauses and turns her head slightly towards me to let me know she’s listening.

“Thank you…for all that you’ve done. I…there aren’t enough words…” I whisper, my fingers clenching hard into the blanket to steady my emotions.

A small smile ghosts across the side of her face that’s visible to me before she nods in affirmation, and then departs. I hear the quiet murmur of a man outside the tent with a familiar, deep voice speaking to her, but I can't quite make out what is being said.

If I weren’t so damn exhausted still, I’d be able to really think about everything that’s happened tonight. With Thomas, with the man who rescued me and brought me to safety, the fact that I’m healing up in the middle of a band of outlaws…but slumber crests like waves against the forefront of my mind. Even the aches and pains that litter my body can’t compete with the need to rest, just a little longer.

So I let myself drift out to sea, but this time, I do so willingly and without fear.


	2. I'm Still Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I’m fighting a battle. I’m fighting my shadow. Herd fears like they’re cattle. I’m fighting a battle.  
>  I’m fighting my ego. Lost youth: where did we go wrong?  
> I’m fighting for me, though. I’m lighting the long way home.  
> To the past that’s haunted me / oh, the past that wanted me dead / oh, the past tormented me.  
> But the battle was lost,  
> ‘cause I’m still here._
> 
> **I'm Still Here - Sia**  
>   
>  No warnings for this chapter. Hope you enjoy it. :} <3

When I wake, I crack open my eyes to see a ray of sunshine peeking through the spaces of the tent I’m in. It’s very early morning, and I can still feel the dewy moisture of the night before on my skin. I lay there and allow all the memories from the last few days, possibly weeks, filter through my mind, putting the fragmented pieces together as best as I can.

There was Thomas. He wasn’t an easy man to forget, and he had made sure of this twice now. He would no doubt be letting the authorities know I’d been seen and then had escaped again. It looks like I’m back to keeping my head low just like all those years ago. A part of me wonders if I’ll ever stop running.

Then, the man…the man who saved my life. It had been so close to being over, and I’d been so damn stupid and careless to try and take on Thomas by myself. Grief and anger can make people do crazy things. I am no exception, apparently.

I remember the low lilt of his gentle voice as he cut me free, and after hearing the heavy, sadistic drawl of Thomas’s all night, this man’s words had sounded like a goddamn lullaby in comparison.

The question still remained: _why?_ What purpose could he possibly have to risk his own life? The others with him had, too. A small pang of unease settles low in my gut, and I have to take a deep breath to calm myself.

_If they wanted to hurt me, they would have done it already…right?_

I’m startled out of my inner battle as a woman I’ve never seen before gently lifts the flap of the tent and comes in. My first thought is how pretty she is as she smiles kindly at me and clasps her hands together excitedly.

“You’re awake! Oh, that’s wonderful. We were all worried about you, you know. You’ve had a rough few days.”

I smile back, feeling the pull of skin on my healing split lip, and nod, wincing as I shift my body upwards into a sitting position for the first time in a while.

“It’s…well, it’s been interesting to say the least.”

She chuckles at that and comes to sit down on the end of the bed. 

“My name is Mary-Beth. I’m a part of this camp and have been for…well, it feels like forever. I’m sure you couldn’t believe it when Miss Grimshaw told you where you had ended up,” she huffs a laugh as if imagining the scene in her head.

“I’m still not sure I _do_ believe it,” I snort, shaking my head at the craziness of it all.

Her smiles dims a bit and she studies my face, and I remember I have a gash on the side of my left cheek. It doesn’t hurt too bad now, which I’m grateful for. The patch that was there previously is gone, and my fingers gently feel over what I recognize as a few stitches.

_Not as bad as I thought it would be. I’m really going to have to repay Miss Grimshaw for this._

“Arthur said you were in pretty bad shape when he found you. He’ll be glad to know you made it through,” she says. 

My eyes shoot up to meet hers and I feel my heart skip a beat.

“Arthur? Is he the one who got me out of there?”

She nods, her face serious.

“That’s the one. He and the boys had been passing through from a job the town over and saw the fire smoke. They thought it could be an opportunity to rob someone, but they found you instead,” she says, grinning and patting my leg carefully.

“Rob someone? As in, steal from someone?” I ask, my voice a little less enthusiastic than before, though I myself am no angelic exception to these things. Starving to death is a terrifying prospect, after all.

“Well, we’re outlaws, you see. It’s the only life any of us have known, but we never take from the unfortunate, and we take care of our own as best we can,” she says calmly, and her voice is genuine.

I nod and feel myself relax a bit more in her company. It’s nice to talk with someone.

“Oh! I’m so rude, I didn’t even ask your name! Tell me a bit about yourself,” she says suddenly, her attention zeroing back in on me.

For a split second, I consider giving her a fake name for safety reasons, but I decide against it. She’s given me no reason to distrust her.

“I’m Charlotte…it’s really nice to meet you. Don’t see many friendly faces around these days,” I say with a crooked grin, averting my eyes awkwardly to pick at my nails.

“Well, I for one am glad you’re here. Hopefully you’ll stick around for a while, hey?” she says sweetly, standing up and brushing down her skirts. “If you need anything, give me or any of the girls a holler, all right?”

“Um, actually, I’m sorry to bother you, but do you know of any nearby lakes or rivers? I’m not sure where I’m at yet and am desperately needing to wash up a bit,” I ask, chuckling and gesturing to all of the dried blood that somehow managed to get on my underclothes. God only knows how rough my real clothes must look.

“You’re no trouble at all! Do you need something clean to wear after, while your clothes dry?”

Before I can answer, she bustles out of the tent and I hear her yell someone’s name. I try to keep the huge smile off my face that’s threatening to form as I wait for her to come back. This almost feels…normal. Maybe I would make other friends here? First, I need to thank Arthur for what he did. Not that a ‘thank you’ can really compare. I feel an excited flutter in my stomach at the fact that I’d found a temporary place to just exist, with people who were kind to me.

_Jesus, you literally just got here, quit acting so emotional._

Mary-Beth comes back in with fresh clothes in her arms, a small square package with the words ‘Sunshine Soap’ on them, and an old comb.

“This should get you started. I noticed your other clothes were…well, I just figured you’d prefer pants over skirts,” she giggles as she plops everything down next to me on the bed. For a moment I can only stare at the things, my head trying to process the kind gesture before she clears her throat a bit.

“Well, I’ll let you get to it. Oh, and lucky for you, we’re at Clemens Point and are saddled up right next to a big lake. We're in Lemoyne territory, but things have been pretty quiet so far. If you walk down the bank a-ways, you’ll have plenty of privacy. Unless you count deer as peeping Tom’s,” she grins and then turns to go.

Without thinking, I quickly grasp her small wrist, and she startles a bit and turns to me.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare – I just wanted to say, thank you. I don’t – I haven’t had someone like a friend in a long time. This means a lot to me,” I say, quickly letting go of her wrist and looking down as my cheeks are set ablaze in embarrassment.

“Don’t you think on it. I bet you would do the same for me, right?” she replies, another gentle smile gracing her face.

“It’s still really early, so go on quickly so you won’t be stopped by any of the boys. They have the audacity to say women are chatterboxes, but if you get caught up with Sean…” she sighs gently and leaves, giving me a quick smile before she’s gone.

The prospect of anyone seeing, let alone speaking to me when I look like a haggard half-demon is none too appealing to me, so I quickly start shoving my legs into my pants and shirt, which are now stiff and dry from blood. I try not to feel nauseous, knowing plenty of it isn’t just my own.

I grab the bundle of things and quickly make my way out of the tent and make a beeline for the trees to conceal myself within. No one sees me, and I slow my pace a bit and enjoy the cool Fall day. I’m about a mile out when I feel that no civilization could be near and start instantly ripping my clothes off once my boots touch the sand of the bank. 

_I just need to feel clean. Of blood. Of that night. Of him._

I snatch up the soap and run ungracefully into the cold water, splashing around ridiculously but it just feels so good to have water on my skin again. I immediately submerge myself and start shaking out my hair from its braid while under water, reveling in the feeling of grime and dirt lifting off of me. I rise out of the water with a gasp, feeling better already to just be in be in it despite how damn cold it is. It’s where I would always be, if I could have my way. I scrub myself hard like I’m trying to take my skin off and rub the bar all over my long red hair, which is surely going to be hell to comb out. 

It’s then that I discover just how bruised up I really am. Blotchy spots of deep blue and purple are scattered across my body, contrasting unpleasantly against my pale skin, but I wear them like ugly badges of survival and steel myself into not feeling smaller when I look at them. My forehead still smarts a bit from clashing it into Thomas’s, but the swelling isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be. 

_I’m just lucky I made it out in one piece._

Not until I feel utterly spotless do I decide to trudge back through the water to the bank and start the process of cleaning off my clothes. Finally, after watching the pools of blood float away from the fabric after a solid twenty minutes of scrubbing, it’s time to wring them out, shake myself off and slip into the nice, dry jeans and long-sleeved black shirt Mary-Beth gave to me. Then I flip my sopping wet hair over my head and bend over to wring out as much water as I can.

It feels a bit strange to be wearing someone else’s clothes, but the euphoria of feeling clean far outweighs the slight discomfort. I roll my sleeves up to a quarter-length, pick up my damp clothes and the soap bar I’ve carefully re-wrapped and make my way back to the camp. I realize halfway back that I’ve had a dopey smile on my face the entire time and laugh out loud at myself, allowing the feeling to continue just a bit longer in case it doesn’t last.

~*~

People are milling about at camp, waking up quietly and trudging about for coffee, but not one of them seems to miss seeing me entering the camp. I feel utterly exposed with so many eyes on me, but I feign some confidence by smiling at anyone I pass as they size me up. A booming, charismatic voice about makes me jump out of my skin as it echoes across the camp.

“Well, look who’s back to the land of the living!”

I whirl around, my damp clothes clutched to me, to see a handsome raven-haired man walking towards me with a smile on his face. His nature seems relaxed and friendly, so I shake off my nerves and meet him halfway.

“My dear, we were worried about you! It looks like you’re doing much better than when I first saw you, though. Now you’re a sight for sore eyes!” he declares, gently taking my hand to place a quick peck on the back of it.

I huff out a laugh in disbelief but blush all the same at the compliment before turning our combined hands into a sturdy handshake.

“I seriously doubt that but thank you all the same. I owe my life to you all, and it’s not something I intend to ever forget. I’m truly thankful, Mister…”

He grins wide, returning the handshake with an amused chuckle as if no female has ever shaken his hand before. I internally roll my eyes, but keep my thoughts to myself.

“Van der Linde. Dutch Van der Linde. And this –” he says, gesturing to the entire camp in a sweeping motion, “is the Van Der Linde gang.”

“So, you’re the man in charge around here I presume?” I ask, not able to contain a grin of my own.

He laughs at this, his hands going to rest upon his gun belt.

“You could say that, yes. But…we have all endured so much together over the years. We're more like a family in many ways,” he replies, looking fondly upon various people of the camp.

“Well, I’m lucky I ended up here. The alternative was…not exactly ideal,” I say, following his gaze, noticing a few people staring at us before I turn away to look back at him and realize he’s been staring at me with an expression on his face I can’t quite place. I realize he is still guarding himself, and his camp, and I take the initiative to try and ease his mind.

“Listen, Mr. Van der Linde. I know that I’m a stranger. You have no reason to trust me, I understand. But all I can give at this point is my word. I’m not…I don’t revel in violence. And even if it is necessary, I find no joy in it. We’re all just trying to get through, you know?” I say, making a point to keep eye contact and be genuine with him. 

_It’s the least I can do._

A smile slowly returns to his face, and his eyes flicker down my body and back up as if he’s gauging my truth, and my worth, and I try not the shift uncomfortably under his piercing gaze.

“What’s your name, dear?” he asks, folding his arms and relaxing the tension in his shoulders a bit.

“I’m Charlotte. Blackwood. Charlotte Blackwood. I haven’t said that name out loud in a long time, but I won’t be dishonest with you. Not after what you’ve all done for me. The men who were trying to kill me that night _will_ look for me. I understand if I’m too much of a liability to stick around. Your family has been kinder to me than anyone has in…well, longer than I remember,” I reply, my eyes dropping to the ground at having to speak the truth. The cutthroat honesty of the words forms a knot in my throat.

“Charlotte,” he says gently, putting a hand on my shoulder in reassurance, “we are all running from something. Every one of us, in fact. For now, you’re safe here. You have my word.”

I look up and his eyes are dark pools of well water, unreadable, but I nod with a smile.

“Thank you. It means more than you know.”

He smiles and gives me a nod before turning on his heel and walking away, whistling a familiar tune as he does. I look around to see if there's a clothes line anywhere that I can hang my things on, and as I do, I hear someone from behind me say hello. I twirl around to face them and am greeted by a man with long black hair braided neatly behind his back. He is tanned and quite large, looking as if he could practically rip a tree, roots and all, out of the ground if he wanted to, but his eyes hold a calm and steady kindness that instantly stands out.

"Glad to see you're recovering well. You look like you feel better," he says in a gentle voice, and I smile at him.

"Thank you. I'm definitely feeling better than I did. Were you...were you there, that night?" I ask, wondering just how many people saw me strung up while being berated by Thomas.

His gentle smile slowly fades and he nods seriously.

"I was. Most of the men here at camp were out on a job that day. It's a good thing, too, or we wouldn't have been able to take on that many men. It was, well, deeply unpleasant to say the least, seeing someone being treated the way you were. I wish we would've stumbled upon you sooner. How long were you with them?"

I stop and think for a moment, wracking my brain for some kind of time frame.

"Well, I waited until the sun had set before I took any chances, but it seemed like the middle of the night by the time someone got to me after I was tied up. I don't remember much after being untied, I think I passed out on the poor man who was riding us back here," I said in a contemplative voice. "However long it was, it felt like an eternity."

He nods and I didn't miss the way he took interest in the first thing I said about waiting until sundown. He can probably figure it out that it was, in fact, me who made the first move.

_Damn. Probably should have kept that to myself._

If he suspects anything, he doesn't voice it, instead asking for my name.

"Charlotte," I reply, holding my hand out to shake his with a grin.

"Charles," he replies, shaking it and returning the smile. "It looks like we'll be seeing more of each other, then. Do you do any kind of hunting? With a gun or a bow?" He inquires, and I realize with a start that I lost my pistol after Thomas's men has stripped me clean of anything I owned besides my clothes. My satchel containing a small amount of money and my journal would be long gone as well. I instinctively reach up to yank my shirt away from my chest and look down it, and to my immense comfort, my locket remains hanging low on my chest, safe and sound.

When I raise my head and exhale in relief, Charles is giving me an utterly confused look that makes me burst into laughter.

"Sorry, I was just checking to see if they took my necklace. They took my gun and satchel, so those are gone for good," I say, chuckling now at his now bemused expression.

"That makes a lot more sense that what I came up with in my head," he says with a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "So you're weaponless, horseless, money-less..." he counts on his fingers with an arched eyebrow.

I snort out a laugh and point to my cheek. "He even got his cut of flesh."

"That's going to leave a good-looking scar. It'll let everyone know you're a real rebel and shouldn't be messed with," he says, his voice a little gentler while talking about my appearance.

"That'll work just fine until I open my mouth," I counter with a smirk.

"Don't worry about anything you don't have for now. We'll help you get on your feet and you can pay your debts as you go. We've all started where you're at now," he says kindly.

"I really appreciate it. I still can't believe how kind everyone has been to me so far," I say before remembering his earlier question. 

"Oh! I forgot to answer you earlier. I'm a somewhat decent shot but I've only hunted small game. I'm downright hopeless with a bow, but I've always wanted to learn how to properly use one," I tell him.

"I'd be happy to give you some pointers. Maybe you can come with Arthur and I on the next hunt, if you like," he replies.

"Really? That would be...yes, that would be amazing! Thank you, Charles," I say, genuinely excited by the invitation.

"I'll talk it over with Dutch and let you know. You just don't seem like the type who wants to do sewing and laundry," he says with a grin.

I chuckle and wave as he departs, and then hear a woman's voice yell 'they're back!'.

I turn quickly to see two men on horseback trotting back into camp, one with a deer strapped to the back of his horse. I stand stock still and watch, hoping someone will say Arthur’s name so I can put a face to the man who saved me, and then I hear another man yell to him in thanks for the deer meat.

My eyes drift to the man who gruffly answers, “it’s fine, Pearson, no need to get sappy about it”, and I feel my heart skip a beat when my eyes land on him and realize how incredibly handsome he is.

_Wasn't expecting **that.**_

His hair is just long enough to tuck behind his ears, thick and light brown, and his stern expression is interrupted by a pair of ocean blue eyes that seem far too soft for the tough demeanor he expresses. He hasn’t shaved in a few days and the beginnings of a beard grace his chin and cheekbones. He doesn’t automatically come off as the ‘saving people’ type, but somehow, I know without question it was him. His voice is familiar, so different from the sarcastic comments he’s doling out at the moment, but unmistakable. It’s the voice I heard as I was dying. I won’t ever forget.

He slides of his horse, a beautiful black and silver female Missouri Trotter, and he whispers something to her as he pulls a peppermint from his satchel to feed her. I quickly scramble into my little tent and drape my wet clothes over the back of a rickety chair, and gently set the soap down on the bed to return to Mary-Beth in a bit. I know I must look like a drowned rat with my knotted hair still wet and unkempt, but I decide that it doesn't really matter considering how banged up the rest of me already is.

As I walk out, he looks up and locks eyes with me without warning. I instantly avert my gaze in embarrassment, but with all the courage left in me I start to walk towards him with my eyes cast to the ground. By the time I’m near his horse, she whinnies uncomfortably at my close proximity and I take a step back, shushing her gently, and extend my hands out to her slowly to let her assess me.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m not gonna’ hurt you, okay?” I say gently, looking into her beautiful chestnut colored eyes while slowly inching forward. When she starts to lean towards my hands, I lower them a fraction at a time, helping her relax her tense shoulders and allow her head to fall slowly. By the time my hands are waist level, she’s using her lips to nibble adorably at my palms, and I hold back a giggle at the feeling to not startle her.

“Good girl…” I whisper, and gently raise my left hand and lay it flat against her strong neck. She tenses for a moment, but I keep mumbling gentle words as I splay my fingers out, letting my hand gently drift down her neck, then back up again. She eventually loses interest in my other hand and leans down all the way to the ground to gather up some stray hay. A warmth blossoms in my stomach, and I know I’ve eased her fears for now as I lay both hands on her neck to stroke her. 

“She’s beautiful,” I say quietly to Arthur as I let my hands fall and walk around the front of her to stand facing him.

He’s looking at me with a quizzical expression, and I wonder for a moment if I somehow offended him. I take a small step backwards just in case I'm being too forward with him.

“Seems ya' really know yer' way around horses,” he says, his southern voice low and gentle as his expression changes into something a bit softer.

“Not really. My momma did. She always said to just treat them like people. Don’t expect their trust right away,” I reply with a smile, my cheeks tinging pink at his compliment while having an immensely difficult time keeping eye contact with him.

_Why in the hell are you acting like such a child? You’re 26 years old. Act like it!_

He hums at my response and looks to his horse, an easy smile falling on his lips that makes my heart clench.

“Your momma is a smart woman,” he replies, his gaze shifting to me quickly enough to see my face fall.

Before I allow any questions of our past to become a part of the conversation, I clear my throat awkwardly and hold out my hand.

"I'm Charlotte. It's nice to actually meet you, since I was a bit...indisposed the first time," I say, my lips forming a crooked grin.

He cracks a smile of his own and nods before taking my hand and shaking it.

"Looks like you've made one hell of a recovery, little lady. Was hopin' you would. You were in pretty bad shape cause of them bastards when I found ya'."

I swallow thickly at the fleeting memories from the beatings I'd taken throughout that night, and the memory of Thomas's face flashes across my mind. I try not to cringe before mentally shaking myself back to the present, my eyes looking everywhere but at him while trying to calm the nerves that are creeping in.

“Listen…I know that I’m not…y’know, special or anything. It wasn't personal, and I know you were just being a good person when you helped me. But you're the reason I’m still alive,” I manage to stutter out ungracefully as my hands twist around each other without me realizing. I'd anticipated this moment for days and now that it's here, I feel at a complete loss for the right words.

I glance up quickly into his blue eyes and can see that what I’ve said has caught him off guard, judging by his expression. His eyes are trained on me and his head is tilted slightly to the side as if he's focusing now on each word I say.

“I just want you to know how grateful I am. Honestly, words are pretty damn weak compared to what you did for me. I haven’t ever – no one has ever tried to help. It means…” I trail off, mentally searching for something, anything that can convey my appreciation. He stares at me expectantly and I exhale the large breath I didn't realize I was holding in. His blue eyes are looking straight into mine and my heart is thumping against my rib cage, and without another thought, I reach up and wrap my arms around him in a hug. 

He goes completely rigid in my arms, and it almost makes me retreat. Almost. But this is important, and I need him to know how much his actions mean to me. His hands hover around me awkwardly before slowly coming to rest against my back. He offers me an awkward pat, which I find to be incredibly endearing and I give him a gentle squeeze before pulling back to smile genuinely at him.

“Thank you. Truly. I won't ever forget what you did for me. You're a good man, Arthur.” I purposefully look into his eyes as my arms fall away from him and I take a step back to give him some space. I feel obnoxiously light-headed over a simple hug and I hope he doesn't misread me as being insincere at how obviously flustered I am.

His unreadable gaze lingers a moment more and his mouth opens as if he's going to say something, but then his expression twists into something closed and irritated, and I know immediately that I’ve gone too far. _Way_ too far.

“Like ya' said. It wasn't personal. I just don’t enjoy folks bein' killed for no reason,” he mutters, his jaw clenched tight and his expression pinched.

My mouth goes dry and I nod stupidly, my heart dropping, as he turns around without another word and stalks away into camp. Somehow the space around me feels colder after he leaves, and I quickly turn on my heel to retreat back into my tent. Once inside, I flop down face first into the cot and groan angrily at my inability to socialize normally. I wasn't trying to make him feel uncomfortable, but I very obviously did and I know I'll be kicking myself for it for a long time.

_Why in the hell did I have to go and screw things up?_


End file.
